Letting Go
by lena-jade
Summary: Taichi and Yamato learn lessons in letting go of overprotecting loved ones when Takeru struggles to come to terms with the powers of darkness. Takeru learns a different lesson. Features Daisuke and Hikari. One-shot.


_A/N: __The following one-shot is broken into two parts. The first half of the first part takes place a day after Episode 31, and then the rest of the fic takes place after Episode 35 but before 36 of _Digimon Adventure 02___. _If FF didn't limit the main characters to two, the list would include Yamato and Takeru as well, with cameos from Daisuke and Hikari, which is how it's categorized on AO3 (under the username **dashielsheen**_, FYI). __I experimented with different tenses, so for those of you perturbed by the inconsistency, just letting all of you know that it's deliberate on my part. I welcome any thoughts or constructive criticisms, especially on Taichi's talk to Takeru. Finally, I'm looking for a Japanese nitpicker (i.e. Britpickers), so if any of you reading this are interested, please PM me. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**LETTING GO**

**part one  
i approach the edge of words silence itself**

_"I take the word and pass it through my sense_  
_as though it were no more than a human shape;_  
_its arrangements awe me and I find a way—_  
_I utter and I am, speechless, I approach_  
_across the edge of words silence itself."_  
—Pablo Neruda, excerpted from "The Word"

* * *

Taichi stops listening after "_—pulled into the Dark Ocean_," whips around so fast that before he himself realizes it, he's shaking Daisuke, wild-eyed with a frantic "What?! Is she all right?! Tell me!" In the back of his head, Taichi realizes he's unfairly rough with Daisuke, who's sweaty and exhausted and bruised from soccer club practice, but he just can't give a damn right now because it's about Hikari and he's not there to protect her.

"_Senpai_, it's over! She's safe now!" Poor Daisuke manages to get out, shocked and trying not to wince at the pain. Taichi looks down and notices for the first time how hard he grips Daisuke's shoulders. He lets go, and takes a step back. In... Out... In... Out... _Breathe_.

"Taichi-san," begins a voice softly, and there's a gentle pressure on his shoulder. It feels like a hand. He turns around, and it's Takeru looking calmly into his eyes. Taichi instinctively relaxes, because it's what Yamato would do to pull him back onto firm ground. "Miyako-san was there." _She'll be okay_, is how he interprets Takeru's — Yamato's — eye language. _She has others to protect her now._ Normally, Taichi is terrible at guessing body language, but perhaps he gets it now because it's about Hikari and it's coming from the one other person in the whole world who goes just as crazy as he is when it comes to protecting her. Takeru understands. They're not only ones on whom she relies anymore.

And maybe... just maybe... it's healthier for the both of them this way.

Taichi looks — _really_ looks — at Takeru, and sees that his eyes are brighter and his words lighter, surprisingly unfettered by bitterness. These are not Yamato's eyes he's listening to, the thought jolts him — they're most definitely Takeru's. Somehow, Takeru has come to peace with Hikari not needing him as much and hasn't let that define him, and Taichi wants to know how he found it.

* * *

It's nearly eleven, and Taichi still has no idea how he let Yamato rope him into cleaning up the band's makeshift practice room — complete with egg cartons as soundproof barriers — in a dilapidated building scheduled for demolition [1]. After school ended, he had soccer practice for two hours, went home to a poorly cooked dinner, attended_ juku_ [2] for an hour (his mother insisted that he needed a head-start than his peers to prepare for high school entrance exams), half-worked on his homework for an hour and a half and half-texted his friends on his cell phone... until Yamato called him. That had been an hour ago.

"You owe me," grumbled Taichi after greedily gulping down his Pocari Sweat [3], a part of Yamato's bribe, which, admittedly, also included free cooking lessons from his best friend — and subsequently, _very edible_ homecooked dinners to take home.

Yamato chose to ignore his comment. "I met Hida-kun earlier tonight."

"Yeah?" asked Taichi, ripping open a bag of Wasabeef [3] under his best friend's disapproving gaze. Yamato was the kind of weirdo who snacked on mixed nuts and apple slices, as opposed to their deliciously sugary or oily alternatives [4] — it was probably the one thing he had in common with his mother, apart from her golden good looks and French [5] glamor.

"He wanted to ask me about Takeru's angry breakdown over Archnemon creating BlackWarGreymon," said Yamato, face impassive but his tightly clenched right hand revealed otherwise. Taichi waited patiently for him to continue, watching as Yamato gradually unclenched his fist. "I didn't even know that happened to him..." he finished with a deep sigh.

A silence hung over the air, but it was oddly comforting in its familiarity. It wasn't their style to fully talk out their feelings; it was enough to carve a niche to retreat from reality to share the guilt and pain over not looking after their siblings enough. Younger siblings who were stupidly and stubbornly determined not to "burden" their elder (and only) brothers.

"Angemon," guessed Taichi. It wasn't a question, but Yamato nodded anyway, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his school blazer. A casual bystander might not have thought much of the casual grace with which Yamato carried himself or the impassive face, but Taichi saw his set jaw, the tension in his subtly raised shoulders, and hands itching to do something, _anything_, to feel useful and thereby remain in control. Taichi handed over his Pocari Sweat to Yamato, who downed what was left of it and crushed the bottle.

"I asked him about it..." said Yamato slowly, staring at the opposite wall, "...but he just smiled at me, but it was_ that_ smile — the one that stretches across his face a little too tightly, a little too painfully. 'It's nothing, _nii-san_,' he said...as if I'm supposed to believe that," he scoffed, throwing the crushed bottle into the trash can, which bounced off its edge and clattered onto the floor. Yamato took a deep breath, and admitted haltingly and reluctantly, as if the words were barbs scarring his throat. "I'm... worried, Taichi. If he doesn't talk to somebody about it... he might do something he'll regret." The words were left unsaid because they were too difficult to say but Taichi understood them nonetheless: _You might be able to get Takeru to open up to you, though. He won't feel as burdened telling you, and he looks up to you._

Taichi, unable to stand the sheer weight of seriousness of the situation, nudged his friend, grinning slyly. "Speaking from my long experience dealing with the obstinacy of Ishidas, the only way to go about it is to knock sense into their thick skulls."

Yamato shoved Taichi away. "This isn't the time to joke, Taichi!" he snapped, but there was no bite in his bark and the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. Eventually, laughter found its way out, and Taichi smiled smugly in response and he was rewarded with a punch in the shoulder.

Taichi threw his hands in the air. "I'll talk to him, I promise. Not sure what I should say, though."

"You'll figure it out — with that sheer dumb luck of yours," Yamato jibed, smiling, but it soon faded. "Just... give him advice. You never gave into the darkness."

"Neither did you," shot back Taichi.

Yamato smiled wanly, the expression on his face proud but sad. "I drew it in with my heart. But it never even touched you."

* * *

**part two**  
**here is where the silence came together**

_"...the communications of the blood—_  
_here is where the silence came together with_  
_the wholeness of the human word,_  
_and, for human beings, not to speak is to die..."_  
—Pablo Neruda, excerpted from "The Word"

* * *

Taichi decided to wait until Takeru's basketball club practice ended. It was a purely strategic decision. He figured Takeru would probably be too tired and drained to fight him... much. He learned this trick while working as an assistant soccer camp counselor trying to herd the short attention spans of hyperactive seven-year-olds into simply _paying attention_ to instructions at training sessions. The most efficient and effective solution, he discovered, was to send them running laps around the field, which they strangely lapped up with excitement, and then they would return to you with no choice but to listen. Taichi called this 'obedience through exhaustion.'

Five minutes until the end of practice, but time seemed to move at a excruciatingly slow pace. All of a sudden, it felt like his tie was constricting his throat; he loosened his tie, trying not to fidget. If Taichi had to be frank with himself, he was more nervous than he'd like to admit, opening up a darkly volatile Takeru, who, according to the reports, alternated between literally running away with flimsy excuses or punctuating terse silence with trembling, angry outbursts. Though Hikari said little on the subject, Taichi could tell it was worrying her (at least, more than it should be, as far as he was concerned), and he wanted nothing more than to slug Takeru for selfishly hurting her with his distance. On the other hand, if Takeru's emotions were really dangerously unstable these days, then perhaps he was trying to safeguard Hikari by putting space between them until he figured things out. Taichi shook his head — he needed to concentrate on what to say.

"_Onii-chan_, what are you doing here?" piped up his sister from behind him. _Shit._ Taichi turned around, flashing his 100-watt smile in what he hoped was innocence. His eyes then fell on her camera bag, and those of her club members who were waiting on her.

"Hi, Hikari," he greeted cheerfully, while inwardly sighing in relief that she wouldn't be able to interrogate him when it was clear she had plans with her club. "Coming back from photography club?"

He could read Hikari quickly weighing the different options of response she had. Her natural inclination, judging from experience, would be to narrow her eyes in suspicion and continue interrogating him. Given Hikari's nature, however, it was likely she would abide by the good manners and breeding instilled in her... and interrogate him later at home without an audience.

"Yes, but we're on our way to take photos at Symbol Promenade Park [6]. And you, _onii-chan_?" Belying the polite tone was a hint of her iron will [7]: she would not back down. In place of narrowed eyes, she chose to lift an eyebrow in suspicion, the look Taichi had seen many times on _okaa-san's_.

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "I just need to talk to Takeru, Hika. No pranks on my former beloved teachers, I promise, so your good reputation is preserved," he teased, but there was no smile on Hikari's face. She was biting her lip: a clear sign of her disquiet. Now, he was worried. Something had happened between the two, but he couldn't exactly discern the nuances of her facial expression.

She looked up at him, smiling tiredly. "We'll talk later, _ne_, _onii-chan_?"

Taichi nodded reassuringly, and then spotted a familiar tall, wiry frame with hat-less blond mop tousled and matted with sweat. "Oi, Takeru!" he yelled, waving the boy over. Out of his periphery, he could see Hikari stiffen slightly at the name, but she remained in place.

Takeru approached the two Yagamis warily, and Taichi couldn't help but think of Yamato at the same age who once held himself apart from the group, not unlike a misfit wolf that isolated itself from the pack. "Hello, Taichi-san, Hikari-chan," he greeted quietly, his eyes darkening when he saw the stiffness with which his best friend held herself in his presence. Whether it was out of displeasure or regret, Taichi couldn't say, and the overprotective brother swept over him as he placed a hand on his sister's shoulder.

"Up for a one-on-one with your _senpai_, Takeru?" he asked mischievously with a big grin, and he could see out of his periphery his sister's lip twitch. So did Takeru's for that matter, he noted, relieved.

"Why not?" replied Takeru, readjusting the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Taichi wasn't too shabby at playing basketball, but against a seasoned ace — and the rising star — of Odaiba Elementary, he knew he had little chance of winning. But for once, competitive Taichi was not interested in a win. _Obedience through exhaustion._

"I should get back to my club, so I'll take my leave," Hikari said as a goodbye, and turned to leave when Takeru faintly called out, _"Wait, Hika-chan,"_ and smoothed down her mussed hair. It was, Taichi realized, an apology of sorts. He watched the tension leave his sister's shoulders as she quietly thanked Takeru with a small smile. There was something tender about the moment that furtively foreshadowed frightening developments in the years to come that Taichi wasn't sure whether he should be relieved that the two made up or bothered that his younger sister might start... no, Taichi was _not_ going to think about it. She was still young.

With a dangerous glint in his eyes, Taichi turned to Takeru, who, he noted with vindictive satisfaction, turned slightly pale.

"Ready, Takaishi?"

* * *

Five.

Two figures bend down, hands on knees, breathing heavily. The game is over. One leaves the gym, and the other waits.

Four.

The one who waits collapses from accumulated exhaustion, breaking out of his prone position now and then to squeeze the last drops of water. He has won.

Three.

The one who has collapsed knows what the other will say, but he let the anger and resistance bleed out of him during the game.

Two.

The brilliant white blaze of sacrifice blinds his vision. Cold laughter echoes in his ears — to him, it is the sound of death. Sobs wrack a tiny body clothed in green. He trembles.

One.

The one who left returns, a water bottle gripped in each hand. He has lost. It is the loser who must deny himself the comfort of the floor and drag his feet, weighed down by fatigue, to the school store and back. He would've done it, anyway, though — he is the _senpai_, after all.

Zero.

He flings himself on the floor, uncaring of the sweat seeping into his school blazer lying underneath. He rolls a water bottle across the floor, and it's grabbed like a life-line by the one who won.

But the fight is not over. It has begun.

* * *

Five minutes passed since the end of the game. Taichi figured this would be enough time to let Takeru recover his speech. On his walk to the school store and back, he had yet to formulate the best way to approach an issue revolving around triggering memories of death and the powers of darkness. He silently cursed Devimon under his breath. And Archnemon. None of this cursing, of course, would help Takeru.

_Screw this. _Taichi had never been good at strategizing step by step; he'd just make things up as he went. And if all else failed, there was always the good old 'knock to the thick skulls of Ishidas' in which he was quite an expert. _Sorry, Yamato,_ he mentally apologized in advance.

"Was there a conference, and you were the lucky one picked to talk to me, Taichi-san?" asked Takeru casually, as if he was telling a frothy joke, but the underlying sarcasm cut deeply into Taichi's cool. But it was the last, desperate punch from a prizefighter who knew he was beaten, so Taichi swallowed his anger. Takeru was his _kouhai_; he was _senpai_ — he had to be patient.

He chose a different weapon from his arsenal — one preferred by a sniper, as opposed to a soldier on the front lines. "Actually, Yamato asked me to talk to you," he replied quietly.

Takeru was stunned into silence. He sat up. And then, "'_Nii-san_ asked you to talk to me?"

"Yes."

Takeru swallowed hard, guilt visible on his face. He looked down on the ground. "I didn't mean to make _'nii-san_ worry," he said, eight-years-old again. Taichi softened.

"That's our job," Taichi joked, and Takeru smiled weakly in response. Taichi took this as encouragement, and treaded lightly. He decided it would be best if let Takeru bring up the memories himself. "Have you been emotionally compromised, soldier?"

For a long time, there was nothing but silence. "I...I might be," he admitted quietly — his voice rough and husky with tears, anger, despair, grief, and hopelessness. _It's a good thing Yamato didn't hear this,_ Taichi thought sadly,_ it would've broke his heart._ Taichi came over to swing his arm over Takeru's shoulders from one brother to another, but Takeru, trembling with barely restrained emotions, could only bury his head in his hands. Taichi had a feeling Takeru was crying silently, but for the sake of the boy's dignity, he pretended not to notice and remained silent.

Takeru finally lifted his head, his eyes dry but red. "I know BlackWarGreymon has a soul, but all I can think about is how to destroy him," he said, self-loathing painfully evident. "It disgusts you, doesn't it, Taichi-san?" he asked, turning to him, desperation carving the lines of his face. "But this is who I am. This is who the bearer of Hope _really_ is, deep down inside."

That was it for Taichi, who had already removed his arm from Takeru's shoulder. Taichi's fist moved so fast it was only a blur in their eyes, and before Takeru could even blink, he was thrown far back by the force of the punch.

"Bullshit."

Takeru looked away, as if it the sheer confidence of that one word manifested before his vision pained him. He said nothing as he stood up slowly.

Taichi stood up, trembling with the kind of fury fueled by disappointment. He was shorter than Takeru, but his fury elevated him to a towering height. "It's so bullshit, that it makes me want to beat more sense into you," he snarled, brown eyes flashing. "And _this_ is what comes out of the love of your mother, your father, Yamato, me, Sora, Koushirou, Jyou, Mimi, your teammates, _Hikari_, and _Patamon_?" At every name, Takeru flinches, and the overprotective brother in him wants to thunder, _'If this is all we amount to you, Takaishi Takeru, you can forget about dating my sister!'_, but Taichi bites those words down. He knew Takeru would never allow himself the possibility when he thought so low of himself.

But Taichi's words finally seemed to have reached Takeru. "I'm sorry, Taichi-san."

Taichi remained tight-lipped. "I don't even want to hear a pathetic statement like that."

"I keep getting flashbacks about... Angemon's death," he whispered brokenly. "Every night, I dream about Angemon dying, and I hear Devimon's laughter. He's dying, we've defeated him, so he shouldn't be laughing like that... and yet, he laughs like he's never lived better before. As if... as if he's getting high off of Angemon having to sacrifice himself... that my first meeting with Angemon became a farewell... that we have so much more to go to fight the powers of darkness."

Shit. Taichi wasn't so sure he could do this anymore. Emotional breakdowns stemming from memories on this traumatic of a level were typically handled by psychologists. And yet...who could they go to? Who would take Takeru's words seriously? They'd probably lock him up in an asylum for believing in a crazy alternate reality. Takeru's parents knew about the Digital World, of course, but... Takeru's mother would never let her son out of her sight, believing that a mother's love and protection would be enough. His father... well, judging from what he heard from Yamato, was probably in no better shape himself. Suddenly, Taichi realized how young _he_ was, too. But he had to do this. He was all Takeru had right now.

Awkwardly, he pulled Takeru into the biggest hug he could manage. "Hey," he said softly. "Keeping all that inside and still functioning everyday as you do after all these years...you're one hell of a kid, you know that? Thanks, Takeru."

"For what?" the muffled voice asked.

"For staying so strong, of course. And I bet Yamato would say the same thing if he were here," he said, and with those words, his shirt became damp. He waited until Takeru's tears resided, and pulled back, gesturing towards the benches. "Why don't we sit here?"

When they sat down, Taichi let out the air he was holding in. "Look, Takeru... as your other _onii-san_, I want to tell you that the powers of darkness won't ever do that again, but guaranteeing something like that, whether in the Digital World or the real world... both you and I know it would be a lie. Darkness, like the light in our lives, comes and goes. And the best we can do when it happens is to learn and grow from our suffering, and it may have something to teach us that happiness cannot. For one thing, it's taught you that you're much stronger than you give yourself credit for. For another thing, you've kept the compassion we know you by for your family, friends, and even for Ichijouji-kun. That means you still hope. You think you lost it, Takeru, but you never did. Because if you did lose it, you'd never care about how disgusted you felt inside." Takeru lifted his head, realization dawning on his face. Taichi smiled. " 'I am worried, _onii-chan_, but I know that if it came down to it, he'd never kill BlackWarGreymon's chance to redeem his soul.' That's what Hikari told me. And I believe it. So would all of us. Takeru... do our faiths in you mean nothing?"

Takeru shook his head.

"Takeru, do you know why Yamato asked _me_ to talk to you?"

Takeru remained silent, but Taichi knew to go on.

"He told me that because his heart had drawn in the darkness before and mine had not, he felt like he wasn't the ideal person to advise you on how to prevent the powers of darkness from touching you further. But I disagree. I believe that because he knows what it's like to come heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul with the darkness... and _fight_ it, he would be one of the best people you could talk to. Because God knows Yamato needs it, too. And there are others. Sora, Hikari, and most of all, Ichijouji-kun...all people who felt sickened of themselves and twisted by the powers of darkness, fought them, and are_ still_ fighting them. And, I think, it may help to talk to Patamon — Angemon, if possible. Takeru, don't dam up the darkness inside your heart. Dams break down if you don't attend to them. Better than building a dam, though, is to just let those 'disgusting' emotions flow their way out. So let them go, Takeru. Let them come and go."

At long last, Takeru nodded slowly after swallowing hard. "All right."

Taichi took out his cell phone. "I should get you home — your mother will have my head if you're late for dinner. And give Hikari a call later tonight, won't you? She'll be glad to hear from you," he added, the overprotective brother inside him now satisfied. They packed up their stuff, and put the equipment away. When they were finished, he swung his arm around Takeru's shoulders.

"Ready?"

"Hey, Taichi-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Always, Takeru."

* * *

_A/N: If you enjoyed this one-shot, please take a look at my profile for brief descriptions of upcoming Digimon fics. Depending on whether or not there's actually a demand, more detailed information such as excerpts, previews, and any behind-the-scenes information may be found on my LJ _(**eraeos . livejournal . com**)_ or tumblr _(**dashielsheen . tumblr . com**)_. (Remove the spaces in between.) Feel free to say hi, talk to me, add/follow me on my LJ or tumblr via ask box or reblog — whether it's about my fanfics, Digimon, other fandoms, or life in general. :)_

**Notes:**

**[1]** A reference to tvN's _Shut Up and Let's Go_ (2012), a Korean drama about the bromantic friendship of bunch of ragtag high school misfits in a band they formed. Seriously, it's so good, and very manhwa/manga in its storytelling. U.S. residents can watch the entire series on Hulu in high quality/resolution without paying, and non-U.S. residents can watch on Dramacrazy . net.

**[2]** Cram school, usually for the purposes of preparing for entrance exams. According to a 2002 survey conducted by the Japanese Ministry of Education, 75% of public middle school students attended _juku_.

**[3]** Pocari Sweat is a popular soft/sports drink in Japan; it tastes a bit like grapefruit Gatorade. Wasabeef is the name of a brand that sells wasabi- and beef-flavored chips, and it's another popular snack in Japan.

**[4] **According to Mamoru Hosoda, director of _Our War Game_, Yamato's expression toward _ohagi_, Japanese sweets made from sweet rice and red bean paste, offered by his grandmother Kinu is described as "disgust" in the storyboard of that scene. In short, Yamato does not have a sweet tooth. (Takeru, on the other hand, is described to be very excited and interested.) This information was provided and translated by onei-kun at _Digital Scratch_.

**[5]** I'm assuming Michel, Takeru's at least part-French grandfather from "Digimon World Tour, Part 2," is Natsuko's father, based on shared hair color and the fact that the connection is directly linked to Takeru only... whereas grandmother Kinu living in Shimane from _Our War Game_ was looking after Takeru _and_ Yamato.

**[6]** Symbol Promenade Park is a large park in Odaiba showcasing outdoor art and sculptures. I'm pretty sure that's an abbreviated name for it used by the locals, but I have no idea what that would be.

**[7]** Hikari's Toei character profile highlights her strong-will and determination as her key traits.


End file.
